


Caged

by glyphsbowtie



Series: Caged [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will turns up somewhere he shouldn’t be, and Hannibal has to make a new plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write a thing! I’m very very new to this fandom. This will be about 5 parts and it’ll be Hannigram. It’s not beta’d so I apologise for any errors. Set sometime during Season 1.

It had been a long time since anything had really, truly shocked Hannibal, but finding Will Graham at his crime scene did.

Finding Will Graham at a crime scene was usually expected and acceptable to Hannibal. He was often to be found there, a splash of colour muddled in the greys of the other investigators.

However, finding Will at a crime scene before Hannibal had actually committed the crime was slightly unusual, to say the least.

The insurance salesman he had been stalking was hulking over Will when Hannibal entered the barn. Will’s eyes bulged as they saw Hannibal enter. The salesman didn’t notice him. He was waving a knife around in an erratic fashion.

Will was bound and gagged. There was blood matted in his curls. It darkened what Hannibal could make out of his plaid shirt, already drying a dull crimson.

Hannibal took a few seconds to assess the situation. He thought the salesman was doing some wood work out here; he had been following him for some weeks and that seemed to be why he kept this barn. However, there was clearly more to him. He was a killer.

This had happened before. Hannibal didn’t target killers usually- he wasn’t concerned with the morality of others, apart from for his own entertainment. He had accidentally strayed across several in his time, though, particularly since his involvement with the FBI had increased. Normally, he would be tempted to let the killer complete his work before intervening.

Normally, the intended victim wasn’t Will Graham.

Hannibal felt something dangerously huge and overwhelming as he wrestled the man away and brought down his knife. The familiar warm spray hit his face. He wasn’t feeling his usual pleasure in this act. He was vaguely aware of the motions he was going through, vaguely aware of the fierceness and rawness of the movements.

He looked over at Will as the body fell to the floor. Will looked back. Hannibal half-expected to see him calculating, working out, realising. But those eyes were empty. Will might not even be there, not really.

Then Will quirked his head, ever so slightly, seeing him. He had worked it out before Hannibal had finished killing the man. Of course. Clever boy.

Hannibal wanted to move the body and remove his protective layer before he freed Will- after all, there were no other layers between them, now. However, it seemed exceptionally unwise to leave him alone with his thoughts.

Hannibal untied Will, half-expecting the younger man to dive for him and attack. Will remained still, looking steadily at Hannibal, until Hannibal removed the gag.

It would be easiest to kill Will now. He knew this, yet the thought caused more of that painful, overwhelming emotion to return. He decided against it.

Will said nothing. He stood up slowly, wincing slightly, then surprised Hannibal for the second time that evening by reaching out and wrapping his arms around him.

He was shaking. Hannibal found himself cradling him, vaguely aware of the bloodied knife still in his hand. Will’s curls tickled his chin as he pressed his face in.

What was he thinking? The trembling could be from the terror of being abducted and nearly murdered, and some of it probably was. Some would be from figuring out Hannibal’s true nature and watching him kill a man. Most would be from seeing Hannibal as he truly was and still caring for him; Will would be disgusted with himself.

Gently, Hannibal steered Will out to the car. He sat him in the passenger seat. Will clung to his hand, eyes locked on his.

"Wait here, please." Hannibal was pleased to hear that his voice was firm and steady.

He returned inside. No time to properly deal with the body; it was a mess anyway, butchered by his anger. He rarely lost control like that.

Taking what he wanted, he went back to the car, placing the packages in the boot. He stepped out of his overall and placed that inside, too.

Joining Will in the car, he started the engine without making eye contact. As the car crunched its way over dry leaves down to the main road, he chanced a glance at him in the mirror.

Will was still staring at him. Hannibal fought back a smile.

This was going to be interesting.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it’s not beta’d so I apologise for any errors. Set sometime during Season 1.

Pain.

 

Will opened his eyes reluctantly, dragging himself back into the present. The pain was in his ankle, dull and constant. It hadn't been there before. His whole body was sore; he had been stabbed in the side last night. A shallow wound, but he had lost a bit of blood and it had hurt like hell.

 

He was in an unfamiliar bedroom. He sat up groggily, finding himself quite naked in the bed. He looked down at his side. Someone had dressed the wound. Hannibal.

 

Memories flooded Will. Some were false, some he had dreamed. Others, he wasn't sure about. He had been attacked last night, taken to a barn somewhere. His attacker had been unknown to him. It had looked grim. Then, Hannibal had arrived.

 

Hannibal. Dressed ready to kill, literally for once. He hadn't known Will was there; that had been obvious from the expression on his face. Looking over his would-be killer's shoulder, Will had read Hannibal's face clearly for the first time. Everything had snapped into place as he watched Hannibal kill the man brutally.

 

Shit.

 

Will covered his face with his hands, clawing at his skin in frustration. He was annoyed with himself for not seeing.

 

Hannibal had put him into his car. Will didn't remember anything after that, but it was safe to assume this room was in Hannibal's home. What had happened to his ankle? Frowning, he pushed the sheets down to look at it: swollen, purple. Broken.

 

“Good morning, Will.” He stood framed in the doorway, posture relaxed. He was wearing no jacket, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. In the early morning light, his skin looked golden.

 

Will struggled to know what to say first. He was feeling a great many things. Fear, oddly, was not part of the cocktail. “You broke my ankle?”

 

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “No 'thank you for saving my life, Hannibal'? How rude.”

 

“Thank you for saving my life, then breaking my ankle,” Will said, voice laced with irony. He realised too late that he was sat uncovered, and reached for the sheets again, feeling blood rushing to his face.

 

“I had to ensure that you couldn't leave. Not until I decide what to do.”

 

It was the most honest Hannibal had ever been with him. Will looked at him hard, struggling to articulate himself. Will had shared himself freely with this man, trusted him in a way that he had never trusted another person. He was Will's closest friend, not that he had a lot to choose from. And he was a serial killer.

 

“It's my job to find people like you,” he heard himself saying, “and I never guessed- I never suspected-”

 

Hannibal held a hand up to silence him. “Don't. Feelings of guilt are unnecessary. I am very good at what I do.” It was a statement of fact, but there was a small hint of pride in Hannibal's voice.

 

Will leaned back against the pillows. He rubbed at his face again; he was getting another headache. “Why are you doing this? Why not let me die?”

 

Hannibal blinked, cocking his head slightly. “You think I could just let you die?”

 

“What I think about you doesn't matter. The person I thought you were doesn't exist, Dr Lecter.” Will shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.

 

Hannibal didn't reply. Will heard his light footsteps approaching. He wondered what was going to happen; maybe he had changed his mind, realised he had made a mistake and was going to quietly kill Will now. Will felt surprisingly little about that.

 

The bed dipped as Hannibal sat down. Will felt light fingers ghost across his cheek and he opened his eyes automatically to see Hannibal's face near his own. He could smell cologne and toothpaste, and felt a strange sense of embarrassment over what he must smell of.

 

“You are taking this very calmly, Will.”

 

“I'm sure I'm just repressing it. I'll probably have another breakdown later.” He smiled humourlessly. “At least I can't go wandering about now.”

 

Hannibal leaned closer, his face blank. “You do not fear me?”

 

“I've never feared you. To be honest, I'm not sure I can feel fear for my life when it's worth so little. Why, do you want me to fear you?”

 

Several emotions passed through Hannibal's eyes. Will wondered what the honest answer was. Hannibal's fingers on his face tightened slightly before he stood up.

 

“Would you care for some breakfast?”

 

Will's eyes widened as he made yet another connection. “You're _eating_ them. And you've been feeding them to us.” He felt a vague sickness in his stomach.

 

Hannibal smiled faintly at him. “Just coffee, then?”

 

“If you'd be so kind,” Will managed.

 

When Hannibal left, Will surveyed his surroundings. His bloodied clothes from last night were nowhere to be seen, although his glasses sat on the bedside table. They'd been in his shirt pocket. He reached for them and put them on.

 

This was certainly not the greatest situation he could have ended up in. Positively, he was still alive, and he owed that Hannibal, no matter how he felt about that. Unfortunately, he was trapped in someone else's house with a broken ankle and a cannibalistic killer. A killer who also happened to be his best friend. He wasn't sure how this could end.

 

Hannibal returned with coffee in two steaming cups. He sat down again and passed one to Will.

 

“Thanks,” Will muttered, taking a large gulp. It scalded his throat.

 

“I will take you to hospital later to get that ankle attended to correctly. I have already contacted Jack and Alana to let them know you are staying with me for the foreseeable future, until it heals.”

 

“You've told people I'm here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So you're not keeping me hostage?” The words sounded silly as he said them.

 

Hannibal sipped his coffee delicately. “I am keeping you here. I assume it is against your will. However, that is not how I intend to present it to the outside world.”

 

“If you wanted us to spend more time together, all you had to do was ask. Breaking my ankle wasn't a necessity.” As Will said the words, he thought for the first time that morning of the dreams he had been having recently about Hannibal. Not the dreams about the feathered stag, although he now realised those dreams were about Hannibal, too. Other dreams, of skin and sweat and lips. The images made him colour again.

 

To his surprise, Hannibal smiled at him. It was a warm smile, and it looked genuine. His teeth gleamed at Will. “I confess I never planned this, but it has proved quite interesting, don't you think?”

 

“Interesting?” Will mused. “That's why you do everything, isn't it? To see how people will react?”

 

Hannibal didn't respond, merely took another calculated sip.

 

“Am I reacting how you'd predicted?” Will prompted, feeling irritated.

 

Hannibal looked into the distance. “I have often fantasised about the reactions of those closest to me if they learned the truth. I knew you would still care for me, but you did surprise me last night when you embraced me. I expected that you would reject me.” Hannibal looked back at him. “Another disappointment in your life.”

 

Will recalled throwing himself into Hannibal's arms after he had been released, craving the closeness and protection of his friend. Hannibal had described himself as another disappointment, but Will didn't feel disappointed. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Anger at himself for not seeing the truth.

 

He was pleased he had managed to surprise Hannibal. He had always been vaguely annoyed by the older man's ability to appear unfazed by life. Without thinking, he reached out for Hannibal's cheek, rubbing his fingers over the freshly-shaved skin. It was softer than he expected.

 

Hannibal's expression didn't change, but his eyes widened. He was surprised again. Will smiled slightly despite himself, revelling in the unusual feeling of having the upper hand, despite everything.

 

“What are you doing?” Hannibal asked quietly.

 

Will leaned forward. He was aware of his heartbeat in his throat, painful and quick. He was playing with fire and he knew it.

 

“Surprising you,” he replied gently, breathing the words against Hannibal's cheek.

 

Hannibal chuckled and stood up suddenly, shaking his head. Will felt both relieved and rejected.

 

“Don't play games, Will. You won't win,” Hannibal warned.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this. :)

The hospital waiting room was too hot. Hannibal considered removing his jacket as he waited for Will. He felt impatient, irritable. He checked his watch, then felt anger that it had only been three minutes since the last time he had glanced at it.

 

He wasn’t particularly concerned about what Will was telling the doctor. Hannibal had been sure to make some carefully worded threats about Alana Bloom before they arrived. They had agreed on a story in which Will had been sleepwalking outside and fallen.

 

Hannibal rather thought that Will might have kept quiet anyway. In a strange way, Will felt that he owed Hannibal for saving his life, however unconventional the way in which it had happened was. If Hannibal understood Will as well as he was sure he did, Will’s next step would be to try to ‘fix’ Hannibal and persuade him to turn himself in.

 

The whole thing would be deliciously amusing.

 

He couldn’t quite explain why he felt so irritated. The truth was, he wanted to be with Will. He wanted to comfort him when the doctors hurt him. He was used to his role as Will’s source of support, and he enjoyed it.

 

Alana arrived in a cloud of perfume. She looked flushed, as though she had been rushing.

 

“Hannibal,” she said briskly, removing her gloves, “how is he?”

 

“His ankle is badly broken,” Hannibal replied. “It will take several weeks to heal.”  


“Jack’s going to love that.” She paused, then fixed him with a hard look. “How come you found him?”

 

“He called me when he managed to make his way back to his house.”

 

She didn’t ask the question, but he could see it lurking in her eyes.  Why you?

 

The doctor pushed Will out in a wheelchair. It was quite an endearing sight. Will looked like an annoyed child, arms folded. Hannibal had retrieved some of Will’s clothes during the night while Will had slept, so Will was bundled up in his usual ridiculous layers.

 

His face brightened slightly when he saw Alana. She squatted down beside the wheelchair. The moment that followed made Hannibal raise an eyebrow. Alana reached for Will’s hand and took it gently. He squeezed her fingers, familiar and comfortable with the gesture. They looked at each other, and his eyes were warm behind his glasses.

 

“How is it?” she asked, looking up at the calm face of the doctor.

 

“It’s a clean break,” the doctor said.

 

“Almost suspiciously so,” Will said cheerfully, flashing Hannibal a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Hannibal felt a chuckle rise in his throat. He had to force it back down.

 

Alana didn’t notice. “How long will it take to heal?”

 

“He needs to be off his feet for several weeks,” the doctor said.

 

“Will is going to stay with me,” Hannibal said.

 

“Why don’t you stay with me?” Alana offered, squeezing Will’s hand again.

 

Will smiled grimly, covering her hand with his other hand for a moment. “Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t want to complicate your life, Alana.” His eyes darkened; his voice sounded bitter. He pulled his hand away and, bizarrely, looked at Hannibal. “Are you ready to leave?”

 

“Very much so,” Hannibal said.

 

Will was quiet in the car on the way back. He was staring out the window, still and calm. Hannibal watched him stroke his chin thoughtfully.

 

Will was a constant source of wonder to Hannibal. He was utterly interesting. He adapted to situations both brilliantly and terribly. His reaction to this whole situation was both understandable and completely unusual. The total lack of fear he felt was very arresting.

 

“Would you like to talk about Alana?” Hannibal asked, keeping his voice gentle.

 

“ Don’t .” The single word was uttered with more venom than Will had used since Hannibal had found him. Hannibal was tempted to keep pushing him, goading him. Part of him wanted Will’s anger, his fury. His fear.

 

He resisted the urge, instead leaving a silence he knew Will would have to fill. He couldn’t have explained why he chose to be kind.

 

“We kissed. She doesn’t want to be involved with me. I’m too  broken for her.” Will rubbed at his face. “I guess this whole thing proves her right, doesn’t it?”

 

“You are not broken, Will.”

 

Will laughed, and it was an unnerving sound. “Forgive me,  Doctor , but your good word doesn’t mean much to me right now.”

 

That was more like it. There was passion in the words. Hannibal felt himself smiling.

 

With very little difficulty, he wheeled Will into the kitchen when they arrived back. Will was lost in thought again, eyes glazed and distant. He looked so small sitting in the wheelchair; he looked fragile and helpless. Hannibal again thought of the moment Will had thrown himself at him when he had untied him. His hair had smelled of his own blood, coppery and warm.

 

“You need to eat some lunch,” Hannibal said, tweaking his cuffs automatically.

 

Will looked at him, his lips turning up in that empty smile he wore so often. “Do you have salad?”

 

It was liberating, having someone know his secret. Someone clever like Will, who made jokes, who understood, at least on some basic level, was even better.

 

“If you insist,” he replied.

 

They ate in the kitchen, at Will’s request. Hannibal wondered if he was uncomfortable in the dining room now that he was starting to understand it. Hannibal never took his meals in here, and the whole affair felt vague and dreamlike.

 

Hannibal wondered how often life felt like that for Will.

 

Will finished first, and Hannibal felt his eyes watching him eat his own salad.

 

“What is it, Will?” he asked.

 

Will reached across and covered Hannibal’s empty hand. The touch was unexpected, and Hannibal looked at Will before he could completely mask his surprise. Will’s fingers were hard and calloused, but his hold was relaxed and gentle.

 

“Am I just another game to you?” Will asked.

 

Hannibal settled on honesty, because he thought honesty would disturb Will more than a lie. “You were never just another game.”

 

“Then…” Will swallowed. “Why me?”

 

“Why not you?” Hannibal didn’t mean the question to be flippant. If he was brutally honest with himself, the moment Will had drifted into his life, he had become important. He was the most fascinating creature.

 

Will laughed, bitterly. He moved his hand away. “Because I’m broken. Because people don’t like me. I never say the right thing. I’m creepy.”

 

Hannibal inhaled through his nose, facing Will squarely. Will had such a bleak view of himself. At times, it had been fun to bait him using it. However, seeing him sat with his broken ankle and sad eyes, Hannibal’s instinct was to soothe him. He was unused to this feeling, and he wore it uncomfortably. He pushed his salad away and took Will’s hands again.

 

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

 

“I suppose  you would think that.”

 

“You are important to me, Will.”

 

Will blinked. “I know that. I know that’s why you broke my ankle instead of killing me. I know that, in your mind, that’s because I’m important to you. I empathise with that. I just don’t understand why I’m important.”

 

“Sometimes it is hard to express why somebody becomes important to us.”

 

Will’s face softened for a moment. Was he thinking of Alana? Another emotion flooded Hannibal, and with surprise he realised it was jealousy.

 

Carefully, but firmly, he gripped Will’s jaw. “Am I not important to you?” he breathed.

 

He watched Will swallow. “You know you are.”

 

“I apologise for breaking your ankle.”

 

“You’re not sorry.”

 

“I am sorry you are in pain.”

 

Will leaned forward, closing the space between their faces for the second time that day. He hissed his next words. “You’re not. My discomfort fascinates you.”

 

It wasn’t just fascinating. It was beautiful. Everything about Will was beautiful, but the way he reacted to pain and suffering was breathtaking.

 

Hannibal was tempted to tell Will this, to see how he would react.

 

“You were my closest friend.” Will pulled away suddenly, the words choked out.

 

Hannibal pushed Will towards the guest bedroom. Will didn’t argue, didn’t resist. “I am still your closest friend, Will.”

 

Will hopped inelegantly out of the wheelchair and onto the bed, looking at his cast with some distaste before looking back at Hannibal.

 

“Then let me help you,” he said.

 

How predictable. Hannibal shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of the chair, before facing Will. He kept his face impassive. “How would you help me?”

 

Will reclined against the pillows. His eyes were sad. His eyes were always sad. He took his glasses off and tucked them into his pocket. The gesture seemed absent-minded. He held out a hand to Hannibal.

 

Hannibal could have resisted the urge to take those fingers and go to Will, but it would have been difficult. Too difficult. Instead, he stepped forward and allowed Will to take his hand. They stayed like that for several heartbeats, their hands clasped delicately. It made Hannibal think of another life, of what might have been.

 

Will tugged him down onto the bed so they were lying side-by-side. Hannibal wasn’t quite comfortable wearing his shoes in bed, but any thoughts he had of mentioning this vanished as Will placed his head on Hannibal’s chest.

 

Hannibal swallowed, looking down at him. There was a great deal of trust in the gesture, trust he knew he didn’t deserve. Will was trembling faintly.

 

“You are afraid of me.”

 

Will shook his head, his curls tickling Hannibal’s chin. They were silky, softer than hair had any right to be. “No,” he said, pressing his face into Hannibal’s waistcoat, the words vibrating pleasantly against his chest. “No. Well. I’m not afraid that you’ll kill me and eat me.”

 

“Considering the situation, that is perhaps unwise.” Hannibal’s hand moved to Will’s hair and he ran his fingers through them gently, trying to calm Will down.

 

“I’m important to you, remember?” Will was trailing the edge of Hannibal’s waistcoat with fidgeting, nervous fingers. Hannibal could feel his breath through the material of his shirt; it was hot against his chest.

 

Rubbing Will’s hair with one hand, he tipped his face up with the other hand, holding his chin firmly. Will’s gaze was wide-eyed. This was his plan to ‘help’ Hannibal, then; to show that he trusted him, despite everything. To show Hannibal that there was good in him after all. Hannibal’s brow creased. There was no good inside him.

 

His face must have changed, because Will’s did, too- Will’s eyes were suddenly dark with what Hannibal could identify as desire.

 

This was interesting. Although he had always been fascinated by Will, he had never hoped for anything beyond friendship with him. Will didn’t let people get close to him in any way, usually; the thought of him allowing more than friendship was hard to understand. But then Hannibal remembered the moment Will had shared with Alana in the hospital, the kiss they had apparently shared.

 

His hand tightened in Will’s hair instinctively, coiling around what he saw as his own.

 

“Hannibal…” There was fear in Will’s eyes now, uncertainty. It aroused Hannibal.

 

He was going to lose control. This creature in his arms had more power over him than he wanted to admit. The moment he had identified desire in Will Graham’s face, Will had become more beautiful than anything he had seen before.

 

There was something very appealing about being desired by somebody who knew what he was; somebody who knew he should be afraid and repulsed but couldn’t resist anyway.

 

Hannibal stood up, forcing himself to put distance between them. He desired Will, too; he could not deny that. The feelings he had for the boy were complicated, deep. He couldn’t lose control. He needed time to plan, to think, before he proceeded further in this.

  
Will didn’t say anything, merely watched from the bed as Hannibal retrieved his jacket and left. His expression was relieved, but he was disappointed, too. Will Graham was proving difficult to predict.


	4. Part 4

How often had Will imagined Hannibal looking down at him the way he had just done?

 

Too often. After Hannibal left, Will lay very still on the bed. He could still smell Hannibal's cologne on the sheet. Will closed his eyes and inhaled.

 

He wanted to separate the man who murdered and butchered people from the man who looked at him like he was the most special creature to exist. If only this had happened two days ago. If only Will had realised that Hannibal cared for him as more than a friend before he found out about his other habits.

 

He wasn't scared of Hannibal killing him. He was scared of Hannibal killing other people.

 

He was scared of Hannibal killing other people, and doing nothing to stop it. How could he stop it when he cared so much for him?

 

A tear rolled down his cheek. He reached up to wipe it away.

 

How could he live with himself now?

 

He couldn't deny how much he wanted Hannibal. The knot that had tightened in his stomach when Hannibal had gripped his hair had been pure lust. He had dreamed of Hannibal's touch for so long. In his dreams, Hannibal had always been dark, powerful and, at times, cruel. Perhaps somewhere, on a subconscious level, Will had always known the truth.

 

Perhaps he had known and been attracted anyway.

 

He had never had particularly good self-preservation instincts.

 

Why had Hannibal just left? Was he repulsed by the discovery of Will's true feelings? Somehow, Will knew that wasn't true. He was special to Hannibal. He was important.

 

Will was going to go and find Hannibal and make him face that. He was angry with Hannibal for all this mess. Will couldn't leave, but he was going to make sure that Hannibal was no more comfortable than he was.

 

He hobbled to the wheelchair and wheeled himself out of the room, following his instincts down to Hannibal's bedroom. His heart was thundering. His arms hurt from travelling like this. The door was ajar, and he pushed at it tentatively.

 

It had started to rain outside, and a faint silver light illuminated the room through the blinds. Hannibal had his back to Will. He was shirtless, rifling with efficiency through the rail in his wardrobe.

 

Will watched the muscles in his back flex beneath the skin. He was beautiful.

 

Hannibal froze, then turned to look at Will. For a moment he said nothing, and Will's eyes dragged down his torso before he could stop them. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a teenager faced with his crush, not like a fully-grown disaster of a man faced with his cannibalistic best friend.

 

“What are you doing, Will?” The words were gentle, calm. But Will saw Hannibal's jaw tighten, saw his throat move as he swallowed.

 

Will pushed himself into the room, but stopped short of actively approaching Hannibal. He wasn't that stupid yet. He wasn't sure how Hannibal would react if he thought Will had decided to attack him. “You can't just... then leave me, you can't.” The words meant nothing and everything, coming out through clenched teeth.

 

“Will, can you be clearer, please?” He was trying to get a reaction.

 

Realising that he was on the verge of tears, Will clenched his fists in frustration. He opened his mouth to try to respond, but found that he couldn't quite phrase how he was feeling. He wanted Hannibal to want him. He wanted Hannibal to be his slightly superior, clever friend, not a murdering monster.

 

Hannibal surprised him by changing the subject, his voice soft. “Why were you with that insurance salesman last night?”

 

“I- I didn't know he was an insurance salesman.” Will rubbed his face, agitated as he often was as he tried to navigate the twists and turns of his memory. “I fell asleep on the couch. I was dreaming- dreaming of the feathered stag.”

 

“You have mentioned it.”

 

“It represents you... but I didn't know that. I was chasing it- getting closer. I woke up in a field.”

 

“I believed that your sleepwalking had improved, Will.” The voice was stern, gently reprimanding.

 

Will ignored him, lost in the mess of his thoughts. “I figured I must be getting close to the Ripper. When I saw him, I knew he was a killer. I could _feel_ it. I thought it was him.”

 

“Why did you not seek assistance?”

 

Will shook his head. “It wasn't that simple. He was the Chesapeake Ripper.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “Well- no. But he was, in that moment. I had to catch him.”

 

“So you went after him, unarmed, not even wearing a coat.” Apart from the fact that he was facing Will with no shirt on, this could have been a therapy session. “What do you think that says about your personality?”

 

“I'd like to say brave, but I'm not sure that I am.” Will smiled bitterly as he considered the question. “Determined?”

 

“You are attracted to danger.” The words were a caress that Will could feel on his skin. He could taste them on his tongue.

 

His eyes raked Hannibal's body again. “I suppose I am.”

 

“Is that why you have followed me to my bedroom? I am a man who has killed many times, a man who has killed in front of you. I have broken your ankle so you have to stay with me. Yet you still followed me.”

 

“Sometimes I don't feel like I have a choice when it comes to you.”

 

Hannibal hesitated. It was impossible to read him.

 

Will wheeled his way over to him slowly. He was terrified, and he knew that was obvious on his face. But he needed a resolution. How long had they been dancing this dance? Tiptoeing around each other, playing with fire?

 

He stopped in front of Hannibal. Sat in this chair, his face barely came to Hannibal's chest. He could smell the warm smell of his skin from this close, and he forced himself not to close his eyes and breathe it in. He tried not to remember that the other thing that came to mind when he thought of Hannibal and skin was bloody murder.

 

Fingers shaking, still half-afraid he was going to be rejected, he reached out and placed his hand on Hannibal's stomach.

 

“How do you feel, Will?”

 

Will couldn't look at Hannibal as he responded, instead staring at his chest. “Like a lamb to the slaughter. A very willing, possibly foolish, lamb.”

 

Hannibal chuckled at that. Will felt it vibrate beneath his fingers.

 

“How do you feel?” Will asked, forcing himself to look up and meet his gaze.

 

He could see the moment where Hannibal seriously considered not telling him. Then he sighed and cupped Will's cheek gently. “Undeserving,” he said quietly.

 

He helped Will stand up, taking his weight against him with ease. Will's hands were pressed against his shoulders for support, Hannibal's arms around Will's waist. Hannibal looked down at him, his eyes bright.

 

It was Will who kissed Hannibal, in the end. The moment stretched out painfully, beautifully, and he reached up, covering those lips with his own. The first kiss was gentle. If it had been between any other people, it would be described as sweet.

 

Will's skin was on fire when he drew back slightly. “I'm important to you.” He didn't know why he said those words at that moment, but they came tumbling out.

 

Hannibal pulled Will's head forward again, so their foreheads were touching. He looked at Will. “The most important.”

 

No three words had ever mattered as much as those words mattered. Will heard the sob escape him as he crushed his mouth against Hannibal's again. The most important person to a serial killer. The most important person to the person who was most important to him. He couldn't get his thoughts straight.

 

Hannibal deepened the kiss, and he lost himself in it. He could taste the salt of a tear which had escaped. He knew Hannibal could taste it, too.

 

“I have an appointment,” Hannibal said against Will's mouth. “I have to get ready. I'm sorry.”

 

It was the first apology Will had ever believed from him. He could feel sweat pooling on his brow. He was aroused, painfully so. He could feel that Hannibal was in a similar predicament.

 

“You may stay in here, if you like. I will return after the appointment.” Will could only nod his head, surprised at the offer, and he allowed Hannibal to sit him gently on the bed.

 

Hannibal selected a shirt and slid into it smoothly. Will felt like he was watching two realities at once; the reality of his immaculate psychiatrist and the reality of the precise, artistic killer he had been hunting.

 

The whole scene was both unsettling and wonderfully domestic.

 

Hannibal fastened his tie and put his jacket on, careful to align his cuffs correctly. Will smiled at the motion.

 

Hannibal inclined his head, turned to leave again, but paused when Will spoke.

 

“Is it wrong to say I am glad that this happened?”

 

He received a wolfish smile. “I'm quite possibly the wrong person to ask.”


	5. Part 5

Hannibal could barely focus during the session. He heard the words, but he couldn't understand them. He heard words leaving his own mouth, but they could have been anything. He could have been confessing to his crimes seventeen times over in that session.

 

The woman's face became Will's, her eyes became Will's sad, serious eyes. He had sometimes wondered what it would be like to kill Will, to look into his eyes and watch him _realise_ , but he was quite certain that wasn't why he was considering killing this woman now. He just wanted to get back to Will.

 

The feel of Will's lips on his, the taste of Will's mouth- nothing had been so vivid in years.

 

A dangerous weakness, really. One he could ill afford.

 

The hour was finally up when the sun began to dip away, streaking the sky a bloody orange. Hannibal showed her out and glanced at the notes he had made. They were nonsense.

 

He sat down at his desk, cradling his fingers. Will was waiting for him. Beautiful, good, damaged Will. The person Hannibal cared about most in the world. Hell, the only person Hannibal cared about in the world.

 

This whole thing had played out like a dream. Will was putty in his hands now. He wouldn't give up his secret, and he would have to deal with that. Hannibal could observe his interesting descent into guilty madness with ease.

 

But that was no longer what Hannibal wanted.

 

“ _Sometimes I don't feel like I have a choice when it comes to you.”_ The words haunted him. He wanted Will to have a choice.

 

He made a decision, the hardest one he had made in some years. He made a phone call before heading back to Will.

 

When he arrived at his bedroom, Will had fallen asleep. Even in sleep, he didn't look at peace. Hannibal could imagine what he was dreaming off, what it was that was making his mouth turn downwards and his arms twitch.

 

Hannibal took off his shoes quietly, then sat down beside him. He touched Will's throat. His skin burned, and it was damp with sweat.

 

Will's eyes snapped open, fixing Hannibal with a terrified stare for a second before he recognised him. The fact that his terror melted when he saw Hannibal was proof that Hannibal had made the right decision.

 

Without speaking, Hannibal kissed him, starting gently, but quickly working up to dipping his tongue inside Will's mouth. He felt Will's hands work their way beneath his jacket, fumbling with his shirt.

 

Will moaned his impatience, and Hannibal moved away to slip out of his jacket and waistcoat. Will tugged at his tie and successfully untucked his shirt. Hannibal couldn't remember the last time he had allowed another person to undress him in such a crude way.

 

He retaliated by tearing at Will's shirt, yanking it over his head, followed by the white cotton shirt he wore beneath. Will's torso was pale and delicate, satiny white skin and a scattering of dark hair. Hannibal kissed his chest. Will was unbuttoning Hannibal's shirt with those shaking fingeers, pulling it away.

 

Clumsy seconds passed, and the two men were naked. Will lay beneath him, gazing up at him desire and adoration written plainly on his face. His eyes were wet. Hannibal found his mouth again, kissing him with everything he felt. He moved so that their chests were rubbing together, skin on skin.

 

Will's hand found him first, gripping his length with inexperienced eagerness, and Hannibal wondered for a moment just how inexperienced Will was.

 

Gently, Hannibal touched Will, delighting in the hissing noise that evoked from Will. Will's fingernails raked Hannibal's back.

 

Hannibal wanted to tell Will that it would hurt, wanted to warn him, but he could see from Will's expression that Will was expecting pain. He slid a finger inside him, then two, and Will's gasping breaths burned his ear as the younger man pressed his face into Hannibal's neck.

 

“Please,” Will said, and it was the only word uttered by either of them.

 

Hannibal entered him, and the pleasure was blinding. Will's face blurred. The nails scraping his flesh would leave marks but right now the only thing he was aware of was being inside Will. He'd wanted to be here all along, perhaps not so literally. He couldn't have imagined how good it felt, or how wrong.

 

He stroked Will as he took him, knowing it wouldn't take either of them long.

 

He slid out of Will when it was done, then lay down, cradling him in his arms. His heart was beating furiously, and he felt unpleasantly warm and sweaty. He knew he should feel success, but he could not.

 

When Will looked at him, his eyes were happy. They were never happy.

 

Hannibal pressed a guilty kiss to Will's forehead, dismayed to feel tears prickling his eyes. He held Will, wanting this moment to last forever.

 

“How do you feel, Will?” Asking the question now was like second nature.

 

“Content.” Will chuckled. “I don't even remember the last time I felt content. I know I shouldn't, all things considered, but-”

  
“No, you shouldn't.”

 

There was a knock at the front door. Will looked at Hannibal, then his eyebrows lowered when he saw that Hannibal wasn't surprised.

 

“You need to get dressed.” The words came out around a painful, bitter lump. “Alana is here for you.”  
  


“What?” Will pushed up, away from Hannibal. His face was confused, clouded, hurt. At his most delicious. Hannibal felt no pleasure.

 

“I called her. I told her I have business out of state to attend to for the next week, and asked her if she could look after you.”

 

“I suppose there are no prizes for guessing the nature of the business?” Will's teeth were clenched. He was angry. He moved awkwardly to the edge of the bed, cursing when he bumped his ankle, reaching for his shirts. “I thought you broke my ankle so you could keep me here.”

 

“Things have changed. Everything has changed.” Hannibal wanted to reach for him, but forced himself to keep still.

 

There was another knock on the door. Hannibal reluctantly got up. It was pointless trying to look put together in the suit which Will had crumpled so unceremoniously on the floor; instead, he pulled on dark jeans and a loose jumper.

 

Will was crying. He had struggled into his jeans and was now sitting, totally deflated, on the edge of the bed. Hannibal had wanted to break him down completely. He had been successful. Will was a ruined, empty shell.

 

“I thought I wasn't just a game. Why did I believe you? What's wrong with me?”

 

“You have encephalitis.” It was rare for Hannibal to let words slip out, but those ones had. He was aware of the rage in Will's gaze intensifying. “I did intend to get it taken care of before it... escalated too far.”

 

Perhaps it was the right thing to do. Making Will see him as a monster again would make this easier on Will.

 

“Oh, god.” Will was gripping the edge of the bed tightly, knuckles turning white.

 

Another furious knock at the door. They were running out of time.

 

“Why are you giving me to Alana?” Even now, he was most upset at this perceived rejection. He looked at Hannibal with disappointment on his face.

 

Time to be honest. The game had run away from him, escalated in a way he could no longer control. Hannibal knew he was on the verge of tears himself, and hesitated before replying. “You told me you feel like you don't have a choice when it comes to me. That is a situation I have created, a situation I desired. In some ways, it is a situation I still desire. However, my own feelings have complicated the issue.”

 

“I- what?”

 

“I need you to make the choice yourself.” With that, Hannibal turned on his heel and strode to open the door.

 

He was aware of Will following in the wheelchair, could hear his hitched breaths in the peacefulness of the hallway.

 

Alana looked at them both when he opened the door. Hannibal knew he looked a far cry from his usual best, and Will's eyes were red from crying.

 

“I apologise for how long it took us to answer the door,” Hannibal heard himself saying.

 

“That's ok.” Alana's eyes were on Will. “Are you alright?”

 

“Still broken,” Will said, with that grim smile. He gestured towards his ankle, but his eyes told a different story. They burned into Hannibal as Alana steered him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first tentative steps into writing anything smutty in a long time! Anyway, that's it for this first piece. I do hope you enjoyed it. The second story is up now so you can just click over to have a look at the first chapter. Thank you very much to everyone who read this, liked it, reviewed it, tolerated it etc. It means an awful lot. :)


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